In a way, he was right: one game had indeed finished. Ali fought only once more. His health had been deteriorating for several years before the ill-advised Holmes fight and the savaging he took repulsed even his sternest critics. Ali the “fearsome warrior,” as Hauser calls him, would disappear, replaced by a “benevolent monarch and ultimately to a benign venerated figure”.

And now that venerated figure has died, aged 74.

Muhammad Ali was also a symbol of black protest, a cipher for the anti-Vietnam movement, a martyr (or traitor, depending on one’s perspective), a self-regarding braggart, and many more things beside. While there have been several sports icons, none have approached Ali in terms of complexity, endowment and sheer potency. Jeffrey Sammons suggests: “Perhaps no single person embodied the ethic of protest and intersected with so many lives, ordinary and extraordinary.”

Born into two nations

Born in Louisville, Kentucky, in the segregated south, Cassius Clay, as he was christened, was made forcibly aware of America’s “two nations,” one black, one white. After winning a gold medal at the 1960 Rome Olympics, he returned home to be refused service at a restaurant. This kind of incident was to influence his later commitments.

Clay both infuriated and fascinated audiences with his outrageous claims to be the greatest boxer of all times, his belittling of opponents, his poetry and his habit of predicting (often accurately) the round in which his fights would end. “It’s hard to be modest when you’re as great as I am,” he remarked.

He beat Sonny Liston for the world heavyweight title in 1964 and easily dismissed him in the rematch. Between the two fights, he proclaimed his change of name to Muhammad Ali, reflecting his conversion to Islam. While he’d made public his membership of the Nation of Islam (NoI), sometimes known as the Black Muslims, prior to the first Liston fight, few understood the implications. The NoI was led by Elijah Muhammad and had among its most famous followers Malcolm X, who kept company with Ali and who was to be assassinated in 1965.

Among the NoI’s principles was a belief that whites were intent on keeping black people in a state of subjugation and that integration was not only impossible, but undesirable. Blacks and whites should live separately; preferably living in different states. The view was in stark distinction to North America’s melting pot ideal.

Ali’s commitment deepened and the media, which had earlier warmed to his extravagance, turned against him. A rift occurred between Ali and Joe Louis, the former heavyweight champion who was once described as “a credit to his race.” This presaged several other conflicts with other black boxers whom Ali believed had allowed themselves to become assimilated into white America and had failed to face themselves as true black people.

Sting like a bee

The events that followed Ali’s call-up by the military in February 1966 were dramatised by a background of growing resistance to the US involvement in the Vietnam War. Ali’s oft-quoted remark “I ain’t got no quarrel with them Vietcong” made headlines around the world. He insisted that his conscience not cowardice guided his decision not to serve in the military and, so, to many others, he became a mighty signifier of pacifism. To others he was just another draft dodger.

At the nadir of his popularity, he fought Ernie Terrell, who, like Patterson, persisted in calling him “Clay.” The fight in Houston had a grim subtext with Ali constantly taunting Terrell. “What’s my name, Uncle Tom?” Ali asked Terrell as he administered a callous beating. Ali prolonged the torment until the 14th round. Media reaction to the fight was wholly negative. Jimmy Cannon, a boxing writer of the day wrote:

It was a bad fight, nasty with the evil of religious fanaticism. This wasn’t an athletic contest. It was a kind of lynching … [Ali] is a vicious propagandist for a spiteful mob that works the religious underworld.

Wilderness years

Ali’s refusal to serve in the armed forces resulted in a five-year legal struggle, during which time Ali was stripped of his title. During his exile, Ali had angered the NoI by announcing his wish to return to boxing if this was ever possible. Elijah, the supreme minister, denounced Ali for playing “the white man’s games of civilisation”. He meant sports.

Other evaluations of sport were gathering force. The black power inspired protests of John Carlos and Tommie Smith at the 1968 Olympics, combined with the anti-apartheid movement in South Africa had made clear that sport could be used to amplify the experiences of black people the world over. While Ali was a bête noir for many whites and indeed blacks, several civil rights leaders, sports performers and entertainers came out publicly in his defence. He was hailed as their champion.

Given the growing respect he was afforded, he was seen as an influential figure. Ali’s moves were monitored by government intelligence organizations; his conversations were wiretapped. But the mood of the times was changing: he was widely regarded as a martyr by the by-then formidable anti-war movement and practically anyone who felt affinity with civil rights.

His years of exile over, he returned to boxing. But prospect of a smooth transition back to the title was dashed March 1971 by Joe Frazier (see picture above)), who had taken the title in Ali’s absence and defended it with unexpected tenacity in a contest that started one of the most virulent rivalries in sport. Ali had called Frazier a “white man’s champion” and declared: “Any black man who’s for Joe Frazier is a traitor.” Ali lost once to Frazier and beat him twice over the following years, every fight being viciously fought.

Ali had to wait until 1974 before getting another chance at the world title. By this time, Ali, at 32, was not favoured; in fact, many feared for his well being against the hitherto unbeaten George Foreman. The fight in Zaire became immortalised as “The Rumble in the Jungle” and Ali emerged again as champion.

In June 1979, Ali announced his retirement from boxing. At 37, he appeared to have made a graceful exit when he moved to Los Angeles with his third wife Veronica whom he had married two years before. His first marriage lasted less than a year ending in 1966; Ali married again in 1967, again in 1977 and then in 1986 to his current wife Yolanda Williams.

Hauser estimates Ali’s career earnings to 1979 to be “tens of millions of dollars”. Yet, on his retirement, Ali was not wealthy.

Within 15 months of his retirement, Ali returned to the ring, his principal motivation being money. He also made several poor business investments and, while prolonging his sports career seemed suicidal, he managed one more fight, again ending in defeat. He was 39 and had fought 61 times.

In 1984, he disappointed his supporters when he nominally supported Ronald Reagan’s re-election bid. He also endorsed George Bush in 1988. The Republican Party’s policies, particularly in regard to affirmative action programs, were widely seen as detrimental to the interests of African Americans and Ali’s actions were, for many, tantamount to a betrayal.

London Olympics 2012: Ali as global icon.Owen Humphreys/PA Wire

Ali’s public appearances gave substance to stories of his ill health. By 1987, he was the subject of much medical interest. Slurred speech and uncoordinated bodily movements gave rise to several theories about his condition, which was ultimately revealed as Parkinson’s syndrome. His public appearances became rarer and he became Hauser’s “benign venerated figure.”

Over a period of five decades, Ali excited a variety of responses: admiration and respect, but also condemnation. At different points in his life, he drew the adulation of young people committed to peace, civil rights and black power; and the anger of those pursuing social integration.

Ali engaged with the central issues that preoccupied America: race and war. But it would be remiss to understand him as a symbol of social healing; much of his mission was to expose and, perhaps, to deepen divisions. He preached peace, yet aligned himself with a movement that sanctioned racial separation and the subordination of women. He accepted a role with the liberal Democratic administration of Jimmy Carter, yet later sided with reactionaries, Reagan and Bush. He advocated black pride, yet disparaged and dehumanised fellow blacks. He taught the importance of self-determination, yet allowed himself to be sucked into so many doubtful business deals that he was forced to prolong his career to the point where his dignity was effaced. Like any towering symbol, he had very human contradictions.

Q: In your book Beyond Black, you argued that Beyoncé was the epitome of today’s celebrity-as-commodity: someone who has almost surrendered her humanity to turn herself into an all-purpose industry that can sell practically any product. There’s no doubt about that. But, after her apparently newfound blackness (as revealed at the halftime Super Bowl show, see above), I have a new question: can she sell the end racism?

A: There’s a short answer and a long one. Let me start with the short: No. Beyoncé Knowles-Carter is a phenomenon, someone who has lived her life as a business; every move she makes is scrupulously thought-through, every decision is subject to rigorous analysis, every interview she gives (and there are precious few) is subject to her approval. This is a woman to whom spontaneity and randomness are like crosses to a vampire. She likes control over every aspect of her industry — and she is an industry, of course. She can sell anything, whether Samsung phones, L’Oréal lipstick, American Express cards … the list goes on. Oh yes, and her own music, of course. Since 2006, when Destiny’s Child split up, she has sold 118 million records worldwide.

Q: But, as I recall, your argument was that Bey’s avoidance of getting involved in any social issue that is even faintly controversial is the key to her commercial success. You also said that all black celebrities have conditional status in the sense that they are kind of allowed to be successful on the condition that they don’t get talk too loudly about social issues. In particular about racism. This seems to have changed now. Beyoncé appears to have some sort of epiphany — a moment of sudden revelation — and is prepared to define herself as black. This is something she’s never done before.

A: You’re right: Beyoncé has never openly described herself as black and has even explicitly denied that she is on the same cultural landscape as the rest of us. In a 2009 interview with Vogue, Jonathan Van Meter asked her “if she had ever experienced any of the racism in the music business.” She answered: “My father had to fight those battles. I didn’t. And now I’m large enough—I’m universal—that no one’s paying attention to what race I am. I’ve kind of proven myself. I’m past that.” Now she seems to have decided that the time is right to open up on this issue. In her new video Formation, she addresses the race issue, straddling a New Orleans police car, which eventually gets submerged (with her on its roof) And at the end of the video, a line of riot-gear-clad police officers surrender, hands raised, to a dancing black child in a hoodie, and the camera then pans over a graffito: Stop Shooting Us. She released the track just before her show the Super Bowl’s half-time; her performance was loaded with black power symbols and what some interpreted as a protest against the police’s treatment of blacks in America (see below).

Q: Since the Trayvon Martin shooting in 2012, there has been a series of encounters involving unarmed African Americans on the losing end of a gun or a confrontation with police. Jordan Davis, 17, was shot and killed in 2012. Renisha McBride, 19, shot and killed in 2013. Eric Garner, 43, was killed in chokehold New York City in 2014, by police officer Daniel Pantaleo. John Crawford, 22, was shot and killed by police in 2014. Michael Brown shot and killed in Ferguson in 2014, by then-police officer Darren Wilson. Tamir Rice, 12, was killed in Cleveland in, 2014, by police officer Timothy A. Loehmann. The killers of Davis and McBride were found guilty and are in prison. The police officers involved in the killings of Crawford, Garner and Brown were not indicted. The officer who killed Tamir is on restricted duty.

A: And everyone in America and beyond knows about these killings and understands the ill-feeling they have created. I think this is why Beyoncé has incorporated black emblems into her music: it became artificial for her to keep insisting racial issues didn’t interest her, or she transcended these kinds of matters. My guess is that her advisors suggested it was time for her to make some kind of statement, however stylized it may be. Rather than give interviews on the subject of police and black people, she’s woven them in her music and onstage performances. As a result, the world has been taken by surprise, Bey has attracted global publicity and she finds herself in a huge controversy — just as tickets go on sale for her world tour (it kicks off in Sunderland in June, by the way) and releases her new Formation album.

Q: Surely you can’t be suggesting that this is just a marketing strategy.

A: Perhaps not just a marketing strategy, but certainly a development that’s beneficial for her marketing strategy. I’ve no idea what Beyoncé genuinely thinks and feels. Who does? Her interviews are typically not enlightening and she is not discussing either the Super Bowl show or the video. As in the past, she lets others generate publicity for her. The former Mayor of New York Rudy Giulani screamed it was “outrageous” she used the Super Bowl “to attack police officers, who are the people who protect her and protect us and keep us alive”. America’s Saturday Night Live show has parodied her with its “Where were you #TheDayBeyonceTurnedBlack?”

Q: As you’ve argued before, celebrities today thrive on controversy and the kind of scandals that would have ruined the careers of film stars and rock singers in the twentieth century. Presumably, this is no different.

A: I suspect this is a calculation more than a gamble. Beyoncé is so globally adored that it’s difficult to think of any kind of scandal that would hurt her. She can say or do pretty much as she pleases and get away with it. The kind of conditional status that applies to most other black celebrities simply doesn’t work with her. She’s never said she is black, anyway. I’ve no doubt that she won’t clarify her intentions any time soon. Anyway, she’s too busy selling us stuff. But stuff isn’t the same as an end to racism — and this is my long answer to the main question. Celebrities can draw attention to big issues and can, in some cases, force the media to take notice. But there are limits to their influence. Beyoncé is a prodigious seller of merchandise, but thoughts are harder to sell than lipstick and breakfast cereal.

Q: Nowadays, do-gooders are everywhere; they line up to get our attention. But I wonder if Trevor Phillips (pictured below) is trying to do any good at all. Apart from give his own reputation a boost, of course. I mean, he’s been on tv urging for more openness on the issue of race. He’s discovered a lavish opportunity for showcasing his gamekeeper-turned-poacher turnabout. The Labour Party made him a member of its London Assembly in 2000, and three years later he became head of the Commission for Racial Equality. So he used to promote the policy of multiculturalism he is now criticizing.

A: Well, hang on a minute: that’s not quite true. His support for multiculturalism hasn’t suddenly disintegrated. He had reservations of Tony Blair’s approach to the policy, which he thought would lead to a kind of ethnic isolationism.

Q: Unlike the American policy that’s encouraged the acceptance of core values and the cultivation of sort of hybrid identities, like African-Americans or Asian-Americans, for example?

A: Let’s remind ourselves that the USA’s policy has not exactly been a runaway success. We only have to glance across the Atlantic to remind ourselves that, despite ending segregation 50 years ago, introducing affirmative action, or positive discrimination, and even electing an African-American to President, America has more than its fair share of racially-charged episodes. In the 1980s, Britain feared Britain was going to follow the US: the riots in London, Birmingham and other cities (see picture below) seemed to reflect the riots in America twenty years before. So the British pursued its own policy: ethnic difference was welcomed and those who wished to preserve their distinct identities through their language, faith, customs and overall lifestyle, were put under no pressure to assimilate, that is become absorbed into the wider society. Phillips argues now — as he did then — that this was a mistake and has led to the cultivation of distinct ethnic groups with little in common. Of course, the American approach has been fraught with problems and, in recent years, we’ve seen evidence of this.

Q: But, as I understand it, Phillips has been saying we’ve deliberately ignored the race issue, abiding by a kind of code of silence.

A: He exaggerates: I don’t think we have been unduly silent about race in the UK. Think about the Stephen Lawrence Report’s publication in 1999. It prompted a heated debate for years. And, when Phillips argues, we were silent about the sex exploitation cases in Rochdale and Rotherham, I think he forgets that, while there were Asian gangs behind many of these cases, we all knew about this. We also know that several whites, sometimes prominent whites, have been involved in similar activities. I get the impression that we talk about these issues. Occasionally, we hear about cases of the police protecting the identities of Asian sex grooming outfits secret; there was a case in Birmingham last year, but the truth eventually reached the headlines with “High number of Asian child sex abusers in Birmingham” I doubt if this is likely to persuade anyone that all British Asians are involved anymore than hearing that Victoria Climbie’s parents were African was going to convince anyone that all Africans are child-killing black magic worshippers. So I don’t think we are as silent as Phillips supposes. In any case, I doubt if there is any benefit in making our thoughts and feelings too well-known. Sometimes, free speech can hurt. That’s the reason the Wigan Football Club owner Dave Whelan got into hot water when he made a reference that had an antisemitic implication and then compounded this with an racial epithet about Chinese.

Q: But I was reading recently that the US Army is investigating a platoon of soldiers, who were given a free pass to use racial slurs against each other during what was known as “Racial Thursdays.” And, in any case, we have laws against “inciting racial hatred.”

A: And this is why I think a code of silence is sometimes preferable to, as you say, a free pass to express your opinion. When Phillips says we have to be ready to offend each other, he should think of the consequences. I’m in favour of freedom of speech, but you have to stay mindful that it’s a potent power. The balance is a fine one: you have to limit the kind of speech and expression of thought that will impact negatively on the life of others. Clearly, there are people around who harbour racist ideas and we have to accept that they will cling to these. In practice, we can’t do much about that, at least not without some form of thought control. What we can do is impose limits on their behaviour: to prevent them harming innocent people.

Q: So you’re actually managing racism rather than addressing it?

A: It sounds defeatist when you put it like that. But that’s about right. I think we should spend our energy on protecting groups. In time, changes in attitudes will follow. But it’s a glacially slow process. The first significant manifestations of racism were in 1958 at Nottingham and London’s Notting Hill and the fact that we’re still discussing it suggests the rate of progress is not impressive. I think managing race is the primary task.

A: They’re for whites only. At least, it seemed that way this week. Chelsea fans forcibly prevented a black passenger from getting on the underground train as the proudly proclaimed they were racists after last Tuesday’s game in Paris (video above). And in the altogether more civilized environs of Hollywood, the Oscar ceremonies disregarded black artists, directors and production personnel, opting for all-white nominees. This surprised many considering the strong reviews for the movie Selma, directed by Ava DuVernay (pictured below with actors David Oyelowo, right, and Common). The snub wasn’t the result of some conspiracy to exclude African Americans. 12 Years a Slave, a film by a black director about black history, won best picture last year. But the absence of black people from this year’s awards, coming so soon after a series of incidents in the US in which young black people have been hurt or killed, seems to magnify how the so-called “race issue” did not disappear with the election of President Obama and the coming of the “colour blind society.”

Q: I guess, in the same way, we have been lulled into assuming the same “race issue” has gone from football. Some people can remember the late 1970s and 1980s, when black players first appeared in British football. In those days, the players were barracked and racially abused and it was commonplace to see far right political movements recruiting outside football stadiums. The kind of incident we saw in Paris could be seen on the streets of Britain all the time, some of the perpetrators being skinheads. Did it go, then come back, or has it never really been far away?

A: Racism has not been a constant presence in British football. It certainly declined in the early 1990s with the rise of the Premier League and the great black players who became stars of the game. The sport became glamorous and, for a long period, it did look like its racist history was just that — history. But, since 2011, there has been a constant stream of incidents, some on the field, some among the fans, and many in social media, that have reminded us that racism has been lurking not far beneath the surface. Now it appears it has returned to visibility.

Q: It almost defies rational explanation, doesn’t it?

A: Almost. But consider this: football and Hollywood are, in their own, different ways, cultural institutions, started by white men (not women) and intended, largely, for other whites. Even in the early days of Hollywood, there were few opportunities for black actors and audiences were typically white. Today the academy that awards the Oscars has been around 93 percent white, 76 percent male and an average of 63 years old. Football is a little older than Hollywood, emerging in the 1860s in England (at least in the way we understand the sport), while Hollywood’s film industry emerged in the early decades of the 20th century. Again, the people who played the game and those who watched were almost exclusively white.There is still what we might call a white establishment in football: it is governed mainly by white men. So we shouldn’t be misled by the number of black players we see in the modern game. The hierarchy of football is dominated by whites. You only have to remind yourself about the recent debate over the scarcity of black managers and the debate over the Rooney Rule to understand how black people in football are meant to be strictly players and not in positions of authority.

Q: So has there been no progress?

A: Oh yes, plenty. But you have to bear in mind that slavery was around in the 1600s and the kind of beliefs and attitudes we associate with racism have been forming, not just for a few decades, but for centuries. I think it’s foolish to think racism is a single mindset that has been frozen in time: compare the situation now with how it was in the UK in the 1980s, for example. The point is that racist ideas are like fingerprints: even though we sometimes can’t see them with the naked eye, their impressions or marks are still there and, under certain conditions, they become visible. Obviously, they were in evidence in Paris. Less so in Hollywood, but perhaps the absence of black people from the Oscars is just as powerful a reminder that we shouldn’t be complacent about racism: it needs to be opposed in its every manifestation.

Q: What’s all this about?
A: Well, Peter Lilley, the Conservative MP for Hitchin and Harpenden, has been arguing for a relaxation of the laws on cannabis and was spotted wearing a lapel badge in the shape of a cannabis plant; you know, one of those leaf symbols. Anyway, the editor of a regional newspaper, the Hertfordshire Mercury, thought it would be a smart idea to photoshop an image of him, plonking rastafarian-style headgear (it’s called a tam, by the way) on his head.Q: So? It’s not especially witty, anyway. So why the fuss?
A: Well, it got picked up by a Daily Mail journo, who tweeted it, and the response suggested some people regarded it as offensive, some even called it racist.Q: Whoaaa! Racist?
A: Apparently. I’m not sure what the logic of this is, but I’ll take a guess: they assume that photoshopping a tam on Lilley implies that the paper is not taking the rastafarian movement and its belief system seriously and, as the overwhelming majority of rastafarian believers are black (there are a few white adherents), then this is a slight against black people. Another possibility is that they object to the immediate association between rastas and cannabis, which is still a controlled substance, despite changes in the law in recent years. So they might think this serves to criminalize rastas and, perhaps, all black people. Q: But rastas actually do believe cannabis is a sacred “herb,” don’t they?
A: Yes. I’m only trying to think through why people were offended by this.Q: Let’s face it: we are all much more sensitive nowadays. I was reading recently that Jeremy Clarkson has put his foot in his mouth again and posted a sign saying “Entrance to Slope” on twitter (see below). What’s wrong with that?
A: The word “slope” is derogatory slang for Asians. It’s well-known in Australia and Clarkson probably realized this, though he denied he personally posted it. I think this is different to the Lilley case because, while the word isn’t used outside Oz, it’s a pernicious term and clearly intended to insult Asians.Q: The fact that you’ve dismissed one case as a storm in a teacup and the other as properly offensive tells me that there is no hard-and-fast rule over these matters. Isn’t is just a case of political correctness gone mad?
A: That phrase is a pathetic cliché and an excuse for not thinking through serious issues (and by the way, “mad” itself is not politically correct). I often ask if people really know what political correctness, or PC, is all about. The main source for PC seems to be French linguistic philosophy, in particular that of Michel Foucault. His analysis was important in pointing out that the production of intellect and imagination represent not so much the capacities of the authors producing them, but the relations of power and the ideologies that define the boundaries of discourse – this being, in very general terms, the context in which the knowledge is produced. Thoughts are not formed in the human mind independently of the language we use to express them. The world isn’t experienced as a series of facts, but of signs encoded in language.Q: Hang on! I’m getting lost here. You’re saying basically that there’s a link between the way we speak and the way we think. Thought and language are closely related. So, if you change the way people speak, you change their minds.
A: That’s pretty much it. In the early 1990s, PC began its attempt to counter the Western, or Eurocentric, conceptions of knowledge by targeting language. Terms and text did not carry thought; they perpetuated it, often in an unreflected way. Apart from the more obvious cases where “black” or its corollaries were used in a derogatory way and in terms of implied abuse, PC carefully screened out all manner of words, some argue too many. For example, blackboard carries no negative connotations; same with manhole, this isn’t sexist. Any word with a vaguely sexist or racist inference, or one that reflected poorly on disabled persons, the aged, or the young was anathema. Despite the derision typically afforded PC, its influence spread, albeit surreptitiously and sensibly. “Actresses” became actors, to avoid a gendered the term. Flight attendants replaced “air hostesses” or “stewardesses” for the same reason. Comedians specializing in racist material faded away, as did drama that depicted minority groups in baseless negative ways. Well perhaps not completely faded away; I know this guy Dapper Laughs has been in the news recently.A: I see, so the effects of PC are all around us. I mean, we wouldn’t use words that devalue women or dehumanize ethnic minorities, at least not unless we deliberately wanted to express racist thoughts.
Q: That’s right. So PC has actually been a positive force overall. The problem is when people seem to search out any tiny item that appears to deviate and elevate it into a big issue. Making a big deal of the Lilley case makes everyone grumble so much that, when a genuinely offensive case crops up, we tend to think, “Oh not again.” I think Clarkson takes advantage of this. He probably knows the boundaries and pushes against them, confident in the knowledge that many people will assume he’s essentially a nice guy, but a bit careless. I’m not so sure. No one owes up to being a racist today: we look for instances of racist behaviour — in what they do, say or write. That’s how you judge someone.

Haile Selassie was born 122 years ago this week. An emperor and leader, he had an interesting and, for some, puzzling relationship with Rastas.

Think about Rastafari and you’ll immediately conjure images of the charismatic reggae master Bob Marley, headful of swirling dreadlocks, singing classics like “No woman, no cry.” Marley was a Rasta – as followers of Rastafari are called – but not a prophet, nor even a leader and certainly not a deity. For Rastas, god is Ras Tafari: that was the name of the former Emperor of Ethiopia, who was born on 23 July 1892, and crowned in 1930. On his accession, he took the regal name Haile Selassie I. He was Ethiopia’s 225th and last emperor.Nearly 8,000 miles separate Adidas Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia, and Kingston, Jamaica, but a link between them was forged by a number of poor black Jamaicans who believed Ras Tafari’s coronation was the fulfillment of a prophecy and that he was their redeemer, the messiah written of in the bible’s Book of Revelations: “King of Kings, Lord of lords” (17:14).They believed he would arrange for a deliverance, which, as they saw it, involve a miraculous transformation in which they would be spirited away from their miserable lives of poverty in the Caribbean and relocated in Africa, the land of their ancestors and their spiritual lodestone. How and why did they arrive at what seems to outsiders a fantastic conclusion?

And who was Marcus Garvey?

“Look to Africa when a black king shall be crowned, for the day of deliverance is near.”The prophecy was Marcus Garvey’s. Garvey (1887-1940) was a Jamaican who campaigned for political and social change on an island that had been an important centre for slavery. After the slave trade was abolished in 1833 and slavery itself ended by Emancipation, life did not improve dramatically for ex-slaves and their children.The constant struggle was caused by permanent racial inequality, as Garvey saw it. His solution after several years of politicking was to launch a steamship company called the Black Star line, with the intention of transporting the island’s (and, later, America’s) black population to Africa. It started operations in 1914.Garvey was a practical organizer and had no time for dreamers. He never said that the “black king” he had spoken of was an actual person; more likely he meant it as a symbolic figure. But, when Haile Selassie was crowned in 1930, many of Garvey’s followers made what seemed to them a logical link. Rastafari was the king and so the day of deliverance was imminent. That meant they should prepare themselves for transportation.

What did Garvey think of Haile Selassie?

It’s not unusual for followers of prophetic leaders to believe the world will be transformed as the book of Revelation depicts. Jehovah’s Witnesses, the Cargo cults of the Pacific Islands, and the People’ Temple which committed mass suicide, were all inspired by prophetic forecasts of transformation. Hundreds of Rastas gathered at various meeting places and at different times awaiting the transformation that would take them to Africa. When it didn’t materialize, they remained undeterred and stayed unshakably committed to Rastafari. What Garvey actually meant was less important than what his supporter believed he meant. Even when Garvey left for the United States, his myth remained and grew. So when in 1937, he wrote in a publication called the Black Man: A Monthly Magazine of Negro Thought and Opinion that he regarded Haile Selassie as “a great coward” and described unflatteringly as “an Abyssinian Napoleon,” followers were not convinced he truly wrote this.

What happened when Haile Selassie went to Jamaica?

On April 21, 1966, Haile Selassie visited Jamaica. Remember, this was 36-years after his coronation and the enthusiasm of Rasta was undimmed. There was now a new generation of Rastas, many of whom still harboured the vision of an exodus. But by now, many had built an Rastafarian worldview: Babylon was how they described the white-dominated post-colonial system, which directed its efforts to controlling black people and keeping them in a condition Rastas described as “mental slavery,” meaning they were still subservient to whites and accepted their own inferiority. Haile Selassie was overwhelmed by the rapturous reception and clearly liked the lavish praise and worshipful admiration of Rastas. He did nothing to dispel beliefs in his divine status. By this time, Garvey had died and his criticism of Haile Selassie forgotten. The Emperor himself had been ousted in 1936 after Italy invaded Ethiopia, or Abyssinia, as it was then known. He lived in exile; this, in fact, was one of the principal reasons Garvey attacked him – for leaving his own countrymen at the mercy of Italy. Haile Selassie reinstituted his powers as emperor in 1941, with support from Britain. We don’t know for sure, but it’s likely that when Haile Selassie visited, a 21-year-old Jamaican who had, the year, before formed a trio called the Wailers, was among the rapturous thousands honouring their redeemer. His name was Robert Nesta Marley.

Bob Marley (1945-81) was arguably the most influential Rasta in history. He never claimed to be a prophet, though his music had a prophetic character; and he was never a leader, though his many followers treated him as one. Marley (pictured above) and his band the Wailers, in 1973, released their album Catch a Fire. Two years later the album Natty Dread sold well internationally. Both records were loaded with Rasta symbols and motifs, prompting music fans to ask questions about their meanings. By the time of the release of Rastaman Vibration in 1976, there were Rastas in practically every British city and in many parts of North America. Young black people had fashioned their hair into the long coiled dreadlocks, as worn by Marley, were carrying what were called prayer sticks (i.e. walking canes) and wearing clothes in the colours of the Ethiopian flag, green, yellow and red, usually with the addition of black. While their parents were, in the main, Christians, young blacks in places like London, Birmingham and Manchester, were drawn to a different theology, which incorporated a political critique. All around them they saw evidence of Babylon, personified in the police, but were guided by an image of deliverance in the form of Africa. And yet, the Messiah who, it was thought would arrange for the deliverance had just died.

So how did they reconcile what appeared to be a conflict between fact and belief?

“Lies of Babylon.” As a research student in the late 1970s, I recall hearing this a number of times when the subject of Haile Selassie’s disappearance came up. Many Rastas believed the white-dominated structure they called Babylon had propagated a falsehood in an attempt to undermine the then fast-growing Rastafarian movement. Others discounted the news by pointing out that Jah (the Rasta name for God) had temporarily occupied the earthly body of Haile Selassie. The passing of Haile Selassie’s body was merely a sign that Jah was not just a human being but also a spirit. A third interpretation and the one most Rastas adhere to, concerns the concept I and I: this refers to the essential unity of all humanity; we may inhabit different human bodies, but we are all spiritually united. Haile Selassie may have gone, but to see him as a single deity misunderstands the meaning of Rastafari: his spirit lies in all of us and can’t be extinguished. From birth, we are all ephemeral bodies, but our souls live on.

So what is Haile Selassie’s legacy?

It depends on who you are. For a Rasta, his spirit occupies, guides and will ultimately determine the future. For others, he will not rate as a powerful leader of an African nation, certainly not in the same way as his contemporaries Jomo Kenyatta (1891-1978), of Kenya, or Kwame Nkrumah (1909-72), the Ghanaian Prime Minister. His true legacy lies in less what he said or did and more in what others attributed to him; in other words, what they believed of him.

Before you go: didn’t you write a book called Rastaman many moons ago?

As a matter of fact, yes. It was based on my Ph.D research at the LSE. Of course, it’s well-dated now, but, believe it or not, it was recently republished as part of a “Routledge Revivals” series.

Q: So, the 2013 British Social Attitudes Survey has discovered nearly a third of people in Britain admitted being racist on some level. In 2001, that figure was just 25 per cent and researchers believe little headway is being made to tackle bigotry. Quite a sharp rise, eh?A: Wait a second: always look at research carefully before you accept its findings. This is poorly-designed research. For a start, it’s a survey: a blunt instrument to try to explore what is, after all, a complex aspect of social life. And look at the question: “Would you describe yourself as very prejudiced/a little prejudiced against people of other races?” This is like something from a not-very-good research project in the 1960s. For a start, the concept of “race” has been so thoroughly discredited that it has no place in a serious research project. Then there is the phrase “prejudiced”: again, this is a term that seems seems straight from a time capsule.
Q: So you don’t like the way the research has been designed?A: It’s not so much me: this research would not get past a peer review on a scholarly journal.
Q: What do you make of its major findings though? I mean, even if we substitute racism in place of “prejudice” would you agree with its conclusions in the broadest sense — are we becoming more racist?A: Who are “we”? I suspect, when people ask the question, they mean whites. But the UK is not a white society: it is a genuinely multicultural society. OK, I know people will rush for my jugular and point out that whites dominate the major institutions in British society. They might also point out that most of the key positions are held by white men. I’m not naive enough to think racism and, for that matter, sexism are vestiges of the past. They continue to affect modern Britain, even in the 21st century. But do they affect society in the same way, with the same impact as thirty years ago?
Q: I see what you mean: 30 years ago, young African Caribbeans were rioting on the streets, weren’t they?A: Yes, and there were what were called “Sus laws” that allowed for stop-and-searches that amounted to what we now call “racial profiling.” And Britain responded to this. I know equal opportunities policies were not perfect; but they did have some effect. And then there is the human rights legislation from Europe. It’s absurd to assume these have not changed British society.
Q: But the Stephen Lawrence enquiry in 1998 exposed institutional racism in the police, didn’t it?A: Absolutely. As I said, I’m not denying racism exists. But its impact is diminishing. After the Lawrence case, Britain went through years of hand-wringing. There were improvements in policing: not the kind of improvements that were going to make all traces of racism disappear. But improvements just the same.
Q: You sound like a bit of a liberal. This is a surprise because I always associate you with cynicism.A: But I think is ridiculous to keep repeating the same criticism. The world changes and we have to remain critical; but this means we have to change the critique to reflect the world. There isn’t such a thing as racism: there are several different racisms. I made this point way back in 1986 in my book The Logic of Racism (which, if I may offer a shameless plug, has just been re-published, though at a crazily high price). My point was that we were labouring with a misleading concept: racism was not a thing, it was a style of reasoning that, sometimes, affected the way people behaved. We can’t control human thoughts but we can manage behaviour and that’s what policies are designed to do. I’ve no doubt racisms still affect the way people behave, and I include language as a form of behaviour. But the negative consequences of that behaviour on people’s lives have been lessened. Anyway, the evidence of our senses tells us that people of different faiths, different cuisines, different lifestyles and so on, get along much more freely than they did even as recently as ten years ago. We now have a generation of people who are not afraid of cultural difference as their forebears were. They actually welcome difference. Cultural differences have enriched, not diluted British society.
Q: In sum, you completely dismiss this survey.A: I do. I think it’s fatally flawed. It is like a study from another age. We shouldn’t take any notice of it. Don’t bury your head in the sand and kid yourself racism has vanished. But don’t be alarmed by this survey: it presents a distorted image of what Britain is like today. @elliscashmore

THE GREATEST – FEB. 25, 1964 LISTON vs CLAYIn 1964, Cassius Clay forced the world heavyweight champion Sonny Liston into retirement and easily dismissed him in the rematch. Between the two fights, he had proclaimed his change of name to Muhammad Ali, reflecting his conversion to Islam. In fact, he had made public his membership of the Nation of Islam, sometimes known as the Black Muslims, prior to the first Liston fight, but the full ramifications came later.Born in Louisville, Kentucky, in the segregated south, Cassius Clay, as he was christened, was made forcibly aware of America’s “two nations,” one black, one white. In his autobiography, he related how, after the euphoria of winning a gold medal at the Rome Olympics of 1960, he returned home to be refused service at a restaurant. This kind of incident was to influence his later commitments. Clay’s amateur triumphs convinced a syndicate of white entrepreneurs to finance his early professional career.

The Nation of Islam was led by Elijah Muhammad and had among its most famous followers Malcolm X, who kept company with Ali and who was to be assassinated in February 1965. Among the Nation’s principles were (and are) that whites were “blue-eyed devils” who were intent on keeping black people in a state of subjugation and that integration was not only impossible, but undesirable. Blacks and whites should live separately; preferably by living in different states. The view was in stark distinction to North America’s melting pot ideal.

Ali’s camp comprised only one white man — Angelo Dundee, the trainer. Cassius Clay Sr was violently opposed to Ali’s affiliation, not on religious grounds, but because he believed the entourage of Black Muslims he attracted were taking his money. But Ali’s commitment deepened and the media, which had earlier warmed to his extravagance, turned against him. A rift occurred between Ali and Joe Louis, the former heavyweight champion who was once described as “a credit to his race.” This presaged several other conflicts with other black boxers whom Ali believed had allowed themselves to become assimilated into white America and had failed to face themselves as true black people.

Ali saved his most ardent criticism for Floyd Patterson whom he called an “Uncle Tom” and “the rabbit,” after Patterson had refused to use his Islamic name. He seemed to delight in punishing Patterson in their fight in 1965. The almost malicious performance brought censure from sections of America, both black and white.

The events that followed Ali’s call-up by the military in February 1966 were dramatized by a background of growing resistance to the US involvement in the Vietnam war. Ali failed to meet the qualifying criteria in the mental aptitude at first, but, by 1966, with the war intensifying, the US Army lowered the required percentile, making him eligible for the draft. A legal request for a deferment from military service was denied. Ali’s oft-quoted remark “I ain’t got no quarrel with them Vietcong” made headlines around the world and positioned him in the eyes of many as the most famous-ever draft dodger. But, he insisted that his conscience not cowardice guided his decision not to serve in the military and, so, to many others, he became a mighty signifier of pacifism.

Ali continued to defend his title, often traveling overseas in response to attempted boycotts of his fights. At the nadir of is popularity, he fought Ernie Terrell, who, like Patterson, persisted in calling him “Clay.” The fight in Houston had a grim subtext with Ali constantly taunting Terrell. “What’s my name, Uncle Tom?” Ali asked Terrell as he administered a callous beating. Ali prolonged the torment until the fourteenth round. The phrase “What’s my name?” became a slogan of defiance. Media reaction to the fight was wholly negative. Jimmy Cannon, a boxing writer of the day, wrote: “It was a bad fight, nasty with the evil of religious fanaticism. This wasn’t an athletic contest. It was a kind of lynching … [Ali] is a vicious propagandist for a spiteful mob that works the religious underworld.”

In April 1967, Ali refused to be inducted into the armed forces. Despite claims that he deserved the same status as conscientious objectors from the Mennonite Church or other Christian groups, Ali was denied and found guilty of draft evasion. After a five-year legal struggle, during which time Ali was stripped of his title, a compromise was reached and Ali was set free. During his exile, Ali had angered the Nation of Islam by announcing his wish to return to boxing if this was ever possible. Elijah Muhammad, the supreme minister, denounced Ali for playing “the white man’s games of civilization.” Elijah had objected to sports for some time, believing them to be detrimental to the progress of black people.

Other critical evaluations of sport were gathering force. The black power inspired protests of John Carlos and Tommie Smith at the 1968 Olympics, combined with the anti-apartheid movement in South Africa, where people like Sam Ramsamy were rallying against racism, had made clear that sport could be used to amplify the experiences of black people the world over. While Ali was a bête noir for many whites and indeed blacks, several civil rights leaders, sports performers and entertainers came out publicly in his defense.

“Still others in American society viewed Ali as a genuine hero,” writes David Wiggins in his Glory Bound: Black athletes in a white America (Syracuse University Press, 1997). “Many people in the black community viewed Ali in this manner, considering him a champion of the black Civil Rights movement who bravely defied the norms and conventions of the dominant culture.” As Michael Oriard, in his essay “Muhammad Ali: Hero in the age of mass media” concludes: “There was not a single Ali but many Alis in the public consciousness”

Ali’s moves were monitored by government intelligence organizations: given the growing respect he was afforded, he was seen as an influential figure. Many of his conversations were wiretapped. He spent three-and-a-half years without his title, unable to earn a living. By the end of it, cultural conditions had shifted so much that he was widely regarded as a martyr by the by-then formidable antiwar movement and practically anyone who felt affinity with civil rights.

Ali’s first fight after exile was in October 1970. He beat Jerry Quarry at an Atlanta where the majority of fans were African Americans. Any prospect of a smooth transition back to the title was dashed March 1971 by Joe Frazier, who had taken the title in Ali’s absence and defended it with unexpected tenacity in a contest that started one of the most celebrated rivalries in sport. Ali had called Frazier a “white man’s champion” and declared: “Any black man who’s for Joe Frazier is a traitor.” Ali beat Frazier twice over the following years, every fight being viciously fought and punishing for both men.

Ali had to wait until 1974 before getting another chance at the world title. By this time, Frazier had been dethroned by George Foreman and Ali, at 32, was not favored; in fact, many feared for his well-being, especially as he had been given two tough fights by the unheralded Ken Norton (one win each; Ali won a third later, in 1976). The fight in Zaire was promoted by Don King, at that stage building his way toward becoming one of the world’s most powerful sports entrepreneurs. The circumstances surrounding what was known as “The Rumble in the Jungle” are the subject of Leon Gast’s documentary film When We Were Kings. Ali’s remarkable Phoenix-like victory re-established him as the world heavyweight champion. The death of Elijah Muhammad in 1975 led to a split in the Nation of Islam, Louis Farrakhan taking the movement in a fundamentalist direction, while Elijah’s son Wallace D. Muhammad founded the World Community of Al-Islam in the West which dwelt less on past atrocities of blue-eyed devils, more on the future. Ali sided with Wallace.

In June 1979, having lost and regained the title against Leon Spinks and beaten Frazier once more, Ali announced his retirement from boxing. There were clear signs of decline in both Spinks fights and, at 37, Ali appeared to have made a graceful exit when he moved to Los Angeles with his third wife Veronica whom he had married two years before. His first marriage lasted less than a year ending in 1966; Ali married again in 1967.

Ali had split with the business syndicate that handled his early affairs after joining the Nation. His manager became Herbert Muhammad. Hauser estimates Ali’s career earnings to 1979 to be “tens of millions of dollars.” The three Frazier fights alone brought Ali $11m; the 1976 Norton fight grossed him $6m; his purse for the Foreman fight was $5.45m; he earned $6.75m for the two Spinks fights. His lesser-paid fights were typically worth $2m each to Ali. Yet, on his retirement, Ali was not wealthy. His wife had an extravagant lifestyle and his business investments were poorly judged. He also gave generously to the Nation of Islam and to various causes.

Within 15 months of his announced retirement, Ali returned to the ring, his principal motivation, apparently being money, though Ali himself reckoned it was the prospect of winning the world title for a record fourth time that drove him. While public sentiment seemed against a comeback at 38 against a peak-form Larry Holmes, who was employed as Ali’s sparring partner between 1973-75, boxoffice interest was strong enough to justify paying Ali $8m. Holmes, as champion, received less than $3m. It was the first fight in which Ali failed to last the full distance and seemed an inglorious, if lucrative end, to a grand career.

Ali’s ill-fated business ventures took another bad turn when he became involved with Muhammad Ali Professional Sports, an organization headed by Harold Williams, which proved to be a fraudulent operation. A return to the ring appeared impossible after medical tests revealed all manner of complication and Ali relinquished his boxing license to the Nevada State Athletic Commission. But, this still left him free to box elsewhere in the world and, in December 1981, he fought once more in Nassau, the Bahamas. It ended in another resounding defeat, this time by Trevor Berbick. James Cornelius, who was a member of the Nation of Islam, promoted the fight. As in the Holmes fight, there was plain evidence of Ali’s acute deterioration and, although he lasted the ten round distance, he spent much of the fight against the ropes soaking up punishment. He was 39 and had fought 61 times, with a 56-5 record.

Further questionable business deals and an expensive divorce in 1986 followed. In 1984, he disappointed his supporters when he nominally supported Ronald Reagan’s reelection bid. He also endorsed George Bush in 1988. The Republican Party’s policies, particularly in regard to affirmative action programs, were widely seen as detrimental to the interests of African Americans and Ali’s actions were, for many, tantamount to a betrayal.

Ali’s public appearances gave substance to stories of his ill health. By 1987, he was the subject of much medical interest. Slurred speech and uncoordinated bodily movements gave rise to several theories about his condition, which was ultimately revealed as Parkinson’s Syndrome. His public appearances became rarer and he became Hauser’s “benign venerated figure.”

Over a period of four decades, Ali excited a variety of responses: admiration and respect, of course, but also cynicism, anger and condemnation. At different points in his life, he drew the adulation of young people committed to civil rights, black power and peace. Yet, as Wiggins points out: “Members of the establishment were, moreover, infuriated by Ali because he exposed, for all the world to see, an America that was unwilling to honor its own precepts.”

Ali engaged with the central issues that preoccupied America: race and war. But, it would be remiss to understand him as a symbol of social healing; much of his mission was to expose and, perhaps, to deepen divisions. He preached peace, yet aligned himself with a movement that sanctioned racial separation and the subordination of women. He accepted a role with the liberal Democratic administration of Jimmy Carter, yet later sided with reactionaries, Reagan and Bush. He preached black pride, yet disparaged and dehumanized fellow blacks. He preached the importance of self-determination, yet allowed himself to be sucked into so many doubtful business deals that he was forced to prolong his career to the point where his dignity was effaced. Like any towering symbol, he had very human contradictions.

Nicolas Anelka’s case to be heard next weekThe three-man independent regulatory panel’s hearing is expected to last several days. West Brom’s French striker faces a minimum five-match ban after being charged by the FA with performing an alleged anti-Semitic gesture during his club’s match against West Ham on December 28. The 34-year-old has denied the gesture was anti-Semitic and requested a personal hearing. I wrote a blog on L’affaire Anelka a few weeks ago. Now, as the case draws towards a climax, I reproduce it …

It’s often assumed that people who are part of a group victimized by history are somehow immune from the bigotry that drives their assailants. A naive assumption, perhaps, but one with enough plausibility to make us think twice about accusing people who have been on the receiving end of racism of dishing it out. Of course, we don’t know whether Nicolas Anelka, the French footballer with parents from the Caribbean island Martinique, has ever experienced racism firsthand; but, as a black man, he would surely have been uncomfortably familiar with its effects in Europe and elsewhere. And, having played in England on-and-off since aged 17 (he signed for Arsenal in 1997), he would be aware that racism has been one of the most bedevilling problems in English and, for that matter, European football for several years. Yet he stands accused by the Football Association (FA) of an offence, which, if not exactly the same as racism, is certainly on the same continuum. In the unlikely event that some readers are not au fait with the Anelka affair, let me offer a brief summary: Anelka is a personal friend of a Dieudonné M’bala M’bala, a French comedian who is also black and is notorious for what some believe is antisemitic humour. Last December, Anelka, playing for West Bromwich Albion, celebrated scoring a goal by making a a gesture in which he thrust out his right arm and tapped it with his left hand (see the photograph above). No one in England knew the meaning of the behaviour, but it soon came to light: it is called a quenelleand has been popularized by Dieudonné. The probability is that Anelka gestured to show his solidarity with his controversial friend, currently under pressure from French authorities. The Football Association has been sorely exercised for the past two years by the reappearance of racism in football and decided to investigate the possible meanings of Anelka’s signal. After three weeks of deliberations, the FA charged Anelka with making a gesture that is “abusive and/or indecent and/or insulting and/or improper.” We don’t yet know the full content of the accusation or Anelka’s apparent rebuttal, but it seems fair to conclude that Anelka will resist any claims that he intended to make a sign that would be offensive to anyone, including Jews, and he was signalling a more common attitude of defiance against authority, or what many people call the establishment.

“The object Dieudonné’s satire is an Establishment dominated, as he sees it, by Jews, who have secured positions of power and insulated themselves against criticism

Before we go further, let’s pause to consider this term establishment. It typically takes a capital E and refers to a group in society exercising power and influence of matters of policy, or even taste, and seen as resisting change. The concept of an Establishment was popular in the 1960s when a rebellious spirit coursed through society, leaving no aspect of life unchanged. Figures such as Martin Luther King (1929-68), James Dean (1931-55), Che Guevera (1928-67) could all, in very different ways, be described as anti-Establishment. Dieudonné would presumably align himself with comedians like Lenny Bruce (1925-66) and Bill Hicks (1961-94), both of whom achieved a kind of infamy. But the object Dieudonné’s satire is an Establishment dominated, as he sees it, by Jews, who have secured positions of power and insulated themselves against criticism. This is not a worldview derived from conspiracy theories, though it’s not totally inconsistent with theories, such as those promulgated by the Protocols of the Meetings of the Learned Elders of Zion, an monstrously spurious document that purported to reveal a plan for world domination. Anelka has followed Dieudonné in rejecting accusations of antisemitism, by which he presumably means he has no hostility towards Jews.Dieudonné is, on his own account, critical of Zionism, which was originally a political movement, launched in 1897, for the establishment and protection of a Jewish nation in what is now Israel. It’s predicated on a distinct Jewish identity and culture and, in some versions, opposes integration. Its critics interpret this exclusivity as a form of racism. So the complexities of the Anelka case multiply: a black man is accused of issuing a gesture that may be antisemitic, but which he claims is anti-Establishment. On closer examination, the Establishment he opposes appears to be a particular arrangement rather than the more generic society. Anelka has used Facebook to defend himself, marshalling the support of prominent Jewish leaders to argue the quenelle is not an antisemitic gesture and that he didn’t intend them to be interpreted as such.

“Very few people own up to being antisemitic, anti-Islam, anti-Arab or anti-anything

My fellow member of the British Sociological Association’s Race & Ethnicity Study Group/Forum Leon Moosavi, of the University of Liverpool, accepts this and points out that the gesture is not imbued with what he calls a “coherent meaning.” It’s a fair point. But gestures, signs and symbols can acquire coherence if they are used in a particular way and, however ambiguous the gesture might have been, there is no denying the quenelle has been used outside synagogues, at Auschwitz, in front of the Jewish school where Toulouse gunman Mohamed Merah killed three children, by signs for rue du Four (Oven Street) and rue des Juifs (Jews’ Street) and in front of the trains that transported French Jews to the concentration camps. Even in the improbable event that Anelka was not aware of the antisemitic connotations of the sign, is his intention a defence? Forum member Brendan McGeever, a doctoral candidate at University of Glasgow, thinks that, while intent should be considered, the reception of signs, representations and so on is just as if not more important. Author Tom Wengraf is even more dismissive of Anelka’s stated intentions because very few people own up to being antisemitic, anti-Islam, anti-Arab or anti-anything. But that “doesn’t mean that we can’t claim (with good evidence) that they are, despite their occasionally sincere words.” Deeds are more powerful than words in this instance, reckons Wengraf. Aaron Winter, of the University of Abertay, points out that, while the term anti-Establishment historically has associations with rebelliousness and insurgency and sounds progressive, even revolutionary, the term has “floated to the right.” In other words, the term is vulnerable to hijacking by groups that have far-from revolutionary agendas. Criticism can be easily absorbed and turned into evidence. So groups that believe powerful minorities control society have a tendency to explain attacks against their own views as proof of the validity of those views; so there is a kind of self-corroborating logic at work. Anelka is not the first prominent black figure to be involved in an incident like this. In 1986, US civil rights activist Jesse Jackson (1941-), who had campainged alongside Martin Luther King, was embarrassed after making offensive remarks that purportedly poked fun at Jews. Al Sharpton (1954-) has had to defend himself several times against accusations of antitsemitism. Louis Farrakhan (1933-), the Black Muslim leader, became notorious in 1984 when he spoke of Judaism as “a dirty religion.” Anelka himself converted to Islam in 2004 and bears the Islamic name Abdul Salam Bilal Anelka, though he has no known affiliation with Farrakhan’s organization.

“Issues of race, religion, culture and multiple prejudices will be addressed

Kick It Out chairman Lord Ouseley has criticised both the FA and West Bromwich Albion for their lack of quick action. The club perhaps might have asked Anelka to clarify his intentions in public, but has otherwise acted properly in refusing to react in a way that could have prejudiced subsequent investigations. And the FA has sensibly taken time to gather evidence and seek advice before deciding to charge Anelka. This is a much more complicated case than those that ended in the punishment of John Terry and Luis Suárez. It is a tangle of thorns; many people will get spiked. If — as we expect — Anelka is fined and suspended for eight or more games (Suárez was banned for eight games and fined £40,000), he will likely appeal and implicate the FA in an unseemly legal conflict that is sure to outlast Anelka’s stay at his present club. The conflict will be forced to address issues of race, religion, culture and multiple prejudices.

… and anti-racism campaigner

“I’m no perfect human being.” When Naomi Campbell stated the obvious on the Jonathan Ross Show, she might have been quoting Grace Jones’s 1986 track “I’m not perfect (but I’m perfect for you).” The “you” in this this context is, of course, you and me and all the other gawkers who have followed Campbell since she became the first black model to appear on the cover of the French edition of Vogue. That was in 1987. Since then, she has rarely out of the news, though often in stories completely unrelated to modeling. Now she is hosting Sky Living’s new talent show, The Face, which has effectively replaced Britain and Ireland’s Next Top Model.

Between the two events, Campbell has not led a sheltered life: in fact, she has crashed unstoppably into practically every kind of scandal you could imagine – she has been a hellcat from the catwalk. Now at 43, you might expect her to be solemn, mellow and, given her well-documented habit of consuming alcohol and drugs, ravaged. She seems reassuringly maturity-proof and looks radiantly svelte. Her latest project is an initiative to expose the dearth of “models of colour,” to use her term, in the fashion industry. Fashion is popularly regarded as colorblind: top models from all ethnic backgrounds sashay at all the major fashion shows in Milan, New York, London and Paris and adorn the covers of Elle, Harper’s Bazaar and Marie Claire. When the Streatham-born model arrived on the scene, there was bewilderment: what chance had a young black woman got of crashing into a predominantly white industry?The late French fashion designer Yves Saint-Laurent (1936-2008), was a stalwart supporter of Campbell and threatened to break all ties with Vogue if Campbell was not put on the cover. Campbell became part of the elite group of supermodels, modeling for the world’s preeminent designers before, perhaps surprisingly, posing nude for Playboy in 1999. Surprisingly in 1999, that is: over the next decade, Campbell became involved in several shenanigans that served to maintain her public profile, not always in a dignified way.

Elite model agency boss John Casablancas – who died earlier this year at 70 – once described Campbell as “odious” and concluded she was “a manipulative, scheming, rude and impossible little madam who has treated us and her clients like dirt”. Campbell herself believed her refusal to accept less money than her white colleagues at the agency initiated the attack. “It doesn’t matter if you’re the first black woman on the cover of French Vogue, I was still getting less,” said Campbell. She has since reiterated that she was offered less than her white counterparts. In addition to verbal assaults on hotel and airport staff, she whacked her housekeeper (for which she was sentenced to do community service). Campbell won a privacy case against a British newspaper that had published pictures of her leaving a Narcotics Anonymous meeting in London in 2001, while she was receiving treatment for drug addiction. Her brief appearance at a United Nations war crimes tribunal investigating Charles Taylor, the former Liberian president, was made eventful by impromptu remark that the trial was a “big inconvenience” to her. Campbell’s turbulent, but supremely newsworthy career, was ornamented with serial affairs with some of the world’s best-known and eligible men. Campbell seems to have made a career rebelling against blandness and, as such, still commands the attention of the global media.

If there is a way of causing outrage, she can find it: in 2009, for example, she modeled clothes by the luxury furrier Dennis Basso. While wearing fur is itself an incendiary act, Campbell’s action was near treasonous. In 1994, she had appeared with other supermodels in a campaign for PETA (People For the Ethical Treatment of Animals) in which the strapline was, “We’d rather go naked than wear fur.” Tyra Banks, shows, she interviewed Campbell. “I was tired of having to deal with you,” she told Campbell, accusing her of having tried to sabotage her early on in her career. The implication was that perhaps both of them recognized the limited number of places for black models at the top table. Campbell never acknowledged the rivalry, though it became a matter of public record. Last month, Campbell launched an anti-racism Diversity Coalition with David Bowie’s model wife Iman and agent Bethann Hardison. The Diversity Coalition sent an open letter outlining the extent to which a form of institutional racism affects the industry. Hardison wrote, “No matter the intention, the result is racism. Whether it’s the decision of the designer, stylist or casting director, that decision to use basically all white models, reveals a trait that is unbecoming to modern society.” (Click for the full text of the letter.) This reflected the general state of the fashion industry. The Coalition pointed out that at New York Fashion Week just 6 percent of models were black and 9 percent were Asian and that fewer black models are used now than in the 1970s. One of Campbell’s first targets was Victoria Beckham, about whom I blogged recently. Of Beckham’s 30 models who appeared at the London Fashion Week, only one was not white. Some may find it strange that Campbell is taking time out from causing mayhem and applying herself to what is, after all, a serious social issue. But maybe the fury that at times seems to engulf her is the result of her own forceful efforts to claw her way to the top of a profession that offers slim chances to black aspirants.